Embossed and Engraved
by Indecisively Yours
Summary: So maybe sending Quinn a wedding invitation wasn't the best idea ever. Then again, it might not be too late.
1. Chapter 1

It comes in the mail one day. A too fancy envelope with her name in embossed black script on the front. She lets it sit on the table while she gets herself situated in her apartment for the day. It goes forgotten as she begins her routines, does a load of laundry, and begins dinner.

She sits down to a small meal of pasta and salad by six that night, alone at a four-person table that would never be filled unless she had guests over. The black embossed script of her name stands out among the mundane envelopes containing bills.

She reaches over then and grabs it, using her clean knife to carefully open the envelope and peruse the contents. The embossed ivory card with lavender and gold accents stands out like a sore thumb already in her apartment.

_You are cordially invited to the blessed union of Noah Puckerman and Jane Williamson. _

The embossed ivory card with lavender and gold accents falls out of her hands and into her remaining pasta as she gets up from her seat to grab her phone. She dials a familiar brunette's number as she tries to keep whatever she's eaten down, unable to turn around and look at the embossed ivory card with lavender and gold accents.

"Santana," she whispers once she hears the answer of the phone.

"Hold on, I'm coming inside," she hears the familiar voice of the Latina, followed by the opening of a door behind her.

She drops her phone onto the counter as she turns around and runs into her embrace, sudden wave of nausea having turned into sadness and hurt. She doesn't notice she's crying until she feels the sudden wet spot on the girl's shoulder.

"He's getting married," she mumbles through the sobs, holding the girl tight. "He's getting married, San."

The Latina shushes her, rubbing her back as she tries to get her to stop crying. She pulls away from her a short while after the tears have stopped and wipes away the tracks on her cheeks. Silently, she turns to the freezer, grabs a tub of ice cream (chocolate chip cookie dough—Quinn always kept a pint or more around) and grabs a spoon before leading the girl to the living room.

"What do you want to do about this?" the brunette asks her once they're both seated on the couch and she's got an arm wrapped around her.

"I love him, San," she whispers before taking a spoonful. "I never stopped loving him. I never thought he would…."

"We never think much of anything, until it sneaks up on us," she tells the blonde as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"I don't want him to get married," she tells her. "At least not to her. At least not until he knows how I still feel."

"Then finish your ice cream and get your miles," she responds, rubbing her arm to comfort her.

"What?" the blonde mumbles with a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth.

"We have a wedding to crash."

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	2. Chapter 2

He's pissed. Pissed beyond any level of pissed he's ever been. The church is cleared, pews empty, bride off somewhere he doesn't know.

He's pacing. Pacing because that's the only thing he can do right now in order to stop himself from not blowing some kind of fuse inside of the church. Yeah, he's Jewish but he knows he won't score any points with God or his number one Heb if he starts dropping the f-bomb left and right.

"I just…I can't…why?" he manages to ask. It's all he can say right now because his mind's a jumbled mess.

She watches. Watches because she can't do anything else right now except watch and let him get it all out of his system. She did after all just show up and crash his wedding.

"I'm finally moving on, finally trying to move forward, and you just show up! Out of the frickin' blue!"

She tries to speak. Tries but fails because the minute she opens her mouth he's speaking again, this time at her.

"I'm trying here!" he shouts. "I'm trying to get over you but you won't let me! You won't frickin' let me get over you. So you decide: hey, I haven't fucked him over in a while, let me just crash his wedding. That'll make me feel better."

"You think I'd actually show up here just to make myself feel better?" she snaps, getting up from her seat. "I came here because I still love you and I was hoping there was a chance!"

"Always at the last possible fucking second, huh, Fabray?" He grabs his jacket from the ground, heading down the aisle then and to the door. "Sorry," he apologizes in a loud voice to the crucifixion hanging behind the altar before he steps out.

It takes her a moment to compose herself before she's running out, following him. She finds him standing on the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette.

"I thought you quit years ago," she says, slowly heading down the stairs.

"Started back up after the engagement," he admits, taking a slow drag.

She watches him as he finishes. He throws it to the ground and extinguishes the bud with his heel before turning to her.

"You can't keep doing this," he tells her. "You find a way to make sure I'm not happy with someone else but when I'm happy with you it's not good enough, either."

"I know," she says softly, looking down at the ground.

Sighing, he takes a step forward and places a kiss on her forehead. "I should thank you for today, actually," he says before leaning down and whispering in her ear, "I couldn't get you out of my head every time I fucked her."

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head before she wraps her arms around him in an embrace.

Their names are engraved on similar invitations a few months later.

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